Death and Grief
by CrystallicSky
Summary: There are fives stages of coping... CHACK, ONESHOT


**Death and Grief**

**By: CrystallicSky**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Xiaolin Showdown or any of its characters, nor do I make any profit or attempt to with the writing of this or any of my other pieces.**

Warnings: Sexual implications, strong language, homosexuality, etc.

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For a long, long moment, Jack could do no more than gape in complete shock. _"What?"_ he breathed, his voice sounding broken.

"I apologize, Master Jack," a Jackbot contritely spoke, "but I told you the absolute truth."

Without further preamble, the machine dipped in a bow and left the room to perform its other duties, leaving its creator alone in his lab.

The goth's legs ceased to support him, and he slumped in a chair.

No…it _couldn't_ be true…it _couldn't!_ That bot must've been malfunctioning or something.

He couldn't be dead…not _him!_

Jack abruptly stood from the chair and kicked it across the room, its wheels allowing it to slide all the way to the opposite wall.

"Bullshit," he declared out loud. "No _fucking_ way! He's not fucking dead, goddammit!"

The albino kicked another stationary object, a small machine he'd been working on for about a week. Not having the advantage of wheels, the object simply flipped over before skidding across the floor for a few inches.

With a growl, the youth cleared his work table, ignoring the items that clattered heavily to the ground. "Why the fuck would he die?!" he demanded of no one. "Those fucking monks…what the fuck do they have against _me_ that they'd kill _him?!_ Rotten sons of bitches! Eye-gouging, mother-fucking, cock-sucking pisswads! I swear to God, I'm gonna kill 'em for this! How _dare_ they?!"

Jack abruptly realized he was flying off the handle, mainly because of the pain emanating from his palms where his short nails were digging into his flesh.

He forced his clenched hands to uncurl and took a deep breath, willing himself to calm down and his mind to think.

With the snap of his fingers, the goth called his robot back into the room.

"Yes, Master Jack?" it inquired in its mechanical monotone.

"Was there anything left?" the genius softly inquired of his contraption. "Any pieces or remains…_anything?"_ If there _was_ anything left, maybe he could do something to undo the damage that the Xiaolin had done; replicate him somehow.

"I'm sorry, Master," the automaton apologized. "The blast eradicated almost every part of him; there was nothing left but this."

Jack accepted the thing his machine held out to him, a small scrap of metal.

The robot left again and the albino was left to stare in horror at the tiny piece of bronze in his hand.

_This_ was all that was left? This _miniscule,_ diminutive piece?

There was nothing Jack could do with so little remaining in _any_ method of replication: he was…he was really gone…for _good._

"No…" he whispered, his voice cracking just a bit.

With that one crack, the floodgates opened and tears began streaming unbidden down his cheeks. The goth clutched the scrap of metal to his chest and simply _cried,_ the magnitude of what'd been lost weighing down on him.

"No," he sobbed brokenly, "wh…why? He…I fucking _loved_ him, and…and now he's-" His throat locked up and he dropped into a chair; the one he _hadn't_ kicked across the room and simply allowed himself to cry.

It was a long time later when he finally got his tears under control.

With a sniffle and a half-hearted wipe of his eyes, he stood, gingerly placing the metallic scrap of bronze in his pocket.

For a third time, he summoned his robot into the lab with a call of, "JB-1250!"

As expected, the machine zoomed into the room in perfect obedience, inquiring, "Yes, Master?"

Jack took a deep breath and ordered, "Round up the others; we're having a funeral for him."

"JB-13, sir?" 1250 clarified.

"Who the fuck else?!" the genius snapped. "Nobody else is gonna have one for him, dammit!"

"Of course, Master," the automaton apologized, "I'll inform the others of the ceremony."

A watching Chase Young scoffed to himself at the ridiculousness of the situation: Spicer had just run through every stage of grief over the destruction of a simple _robot!_

Sometimes, the dragonlord wondered just what he would be getting into when he finally took the boy as his apprentice (and likely much more, if the man's libido and the albino's sexy body had anything to say about it).

Then again…it was JB-_13_ in particular that Jack was upset about. Number 13 out of over a thousand of them? It was clear that this JB-13 must have been one of the very first robots the genius had created.

That made more sense, Chase supposed: in fact, he himself would feel very much the same were he to have lost one of his very first warriors; Bella or perhaps even Diol…the loss of either of them would certainly leave quite the mark.

With an inaudible sigh, the dragonlord retreated from the shadows of the Spicer mansion, resolving to leave a lily on the grave of JB-13, if just for the sake of his future apprentice and lover.

Oh, the depths to which he stooped for Spicer!

**--**

**A/N: No comment, actually. **


End file.
